


Painted Skin

by rosalynbair



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Genre: Art Student AU, College AU, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Nude Model AU, Public Sex, Smut, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosalynbair/pseuds/rosalynbair
Summary: As an art student, you're used to nude models. But not when they're the best friend you've been in love with for two years. The timing had never been right, but it seems that the only right time is now.





	Painted Skin

Ochre and gold leaves with fading and curling tips littered the worn cobblestone of the walkway that wound through the campus buildings of the near-ancient university that was home to so many people.

The late autumn air nipped at the skin of your legs, reminding you that you really should not have worn a skirt so close to winter. The thin olive coloured suede clings to your thighs, the skin rubbing together in anger as your strides were kept short as to not pop the buttons that ran up the front and held the skirt together around your body.

Wind whistles between the old buildings, the leaves whirling in cyclones on the ground until they were crunching under your shoes with each step.

Much like the others on the campus so late in the afternoon, you were huddled within a jacket that wasn’t quite weather appropriate, hands shoved into the pockets while your chin was tucked into the neckline of the jacket.

The sun was no longer in the sky, fading into the horizon behind the skyline of buildings and trees to left of you, casting a hazy auburn glow over the campus.

Your classes had been specifically chosen by you for the later hours of the day, allowing you to keep your job at the chain coffee shop near your off-campus housing. The morning rush shift was the only reason you were able to complete a full fine arts degree at a university such as yours. It helped pay rent and was enough to begin to pay back the student loans that would be in your life until you were forty.

One of your timetable classmates held the door open for you, watching you jog awkwardly up the worn steps that so many had tripped on during rushed runs to late classes. You utter a soft thank you as you slow to a walk once in the heated building.

The boy - who you had never bothered to learn the name of - walked beside you, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone where multiple messages came in to what you assumed to be the timetable group chat that you had long since muted in hopes to keep your sanity.

The pale and yellow lit halls were quiet at this time of day, some of the studios had their doors opened to reveal lone students staying later than their classes required or ones who had booked the studios to themselves for guaranteed privacy to practice their craft.

One girl waves at you when you glance into the room on your way by, the room casting a white glow into the hallway from a lamp facing the black paper with a model standing in front of it. You return the gesture with a smile, finally releasing your hands from your pockets to adjust the old yellow backpack that hung from your shoulders.

The wooden and once gorgeously carved stairs you climb are rickety and creak with each step you take. Each step is painted and covered in varnish, all thirty six steps representing a year of graduates. Pretty and faded vines twirl up the railing that your fingers ran along as you reached the second floor.

It sounded like a hoard of elephants running through the building when more than two people walked along the upstairs hallway, their footsteps echoing throughout the stairwell and through to the first floor.

You drop one strap of your backpack off of your shoulder, holding the remaining one as you walk into the room that was somehow considered a classroom.

Portrait covered walls with barely any space left to hang anything, a row of racks that held drying canvases and a low built in shelf on the back wall with an array of pottery and clay sculptures.

Already there were a few students milling around the room, preparing their canvases around a stool near the front of the room where the windows were covered by large blackout curtains.

There was a black sheet resting on the floor, splayed out and taped at the corners with electrical tape until there were no noticeable wrinkles in the fabric under the lights.

A brown stool rested in the middle of the sheet, standing out with it’s faded wood that had been sanded smooth recently in hopes to reduce the risk of splinters for the models.

A light was already positioned to the left side, a thin film of foggy white in front of it to diffuse the harsh LED that rested in the stand. There was no backlighting or spotlight, the only source was the single fill light.

Your bag drops onto a chair close to the front, a rickety wooden easel already standing in front of it. It was covered in years of paint, years of failed and successful art that held the blood sweat and tears of previous students.

You walk to the back of the room, grabbing a canvas you had pre-painted white a few days prior at the end of your previous class you had in this room. You set the canvas on the easel, making sure it was in place before grabbing your small paint palette to get the colours you wanted.

“Do you know anything about our model today?” You ask a girl who was standing in front of the organized closet of hanging paint.

Each tube of paint had a little piece of paper beneath it with the swatch of paint and the colour number written on it, organized in a rainbow covering the full three walls.

“He’s caucasian with dark hair.” She says with a smile, squeezing a little bit of rust brown onto her pallet. “I think he’s a student here, but Larson didn’t want to say anything else about him.”

You nod, looking around at the colours and trying to find some form of pallett that would mix well together for a portrait. “Thanks.” You say, finding yourself being drawn to the more monochromatic scheme.

You mix colours on your pallett, an array of beiges and whites, greys and blacks. You took a mental list of the colours you had used, in case you needed to come back for more during the class.  
When there was a blur of colours taking up most of the space on the clear, plastic surface, you move out of the closet and move towards your canvas once more, eyes catching the dark hair and stark white robe of the model speaking to your professor.

It was only after you had sat down and set your pallet aside that you began to listen to the baritone of the man who would soon be bared before you.  _Ben Solo_.

You should have recognized his lean calves and the dark mop a top his head, or the thin scar that wound up the back of his left ankle, or even just the way he was leaning against the doorframe as if this room was his. As if his presence was the only one that mattered out of the multiple people milling around and preparing themselves for the next two hours.

As the clock reached the top of the hour with a soft tick, Larson looked at her wrist watch before cutting off her sentence to Ben. With a quick word, she steps around him as he turns and pushes himself off of the wall. His smile is quick to his face, his lips crooked and the corners of his eyes lined with crows feet when he spots you.

You return it, although you have an accusing glint to your eye. Ben and you had been friends since your second year when you had shared a general psychology class to fill in that extra Gen-ed timeslot. Two years now, two years of flirting and almost kisses, almost romantic touches.

The timing had never been right, an almost brush of the lips during an emotional breakdown the night before an exam or the gentle squeeze of a hand as he ranted about something his father had said over the phone. Relationships cycled through almost perfectly to clash with any opportunity of finally taking that small step to being together. To admitting defeat and giving into the emotions felt for each other that you both were so quick to deny the existence of.

Flirting was the only thing that satisfied the want of something more, and you feel a small hint of surprise that he hadn’t boasted and bragged about being nude in front of you for class. That you would forever have a signed painting of him naked. It was such a  _Ben Solo_  thing to do, but he hadn’t. You didn’t even know he knew where this building was on campus.

“I think this is all who is coming today.” Larson says, scratching lines across the names of students who had failed to show up for class. “So we’ll being now, Angela can you close the door?”

The red and orange haired girl stood from her station and slipped past Ben to close the door, pulling the blind down to cover the window and hide the room from any curious peepers that may be interested in looking in. When she sits again, Larson gestures to Ben.

“This is Ben Solo, a fourth year music business student who has been modelling since his first semester here at the university.” She says with a fond smile on her face. “Ben has graciously given up his free time this evening to sit on a stool for you for the next two hours. Please be respectful and remember that this is a professional environment.”

She steps to the side, turning to walk over to the large oak desk that sat in the corner. Behind it on the wall is an array of light switches that never seem to work or be in the right order. Even with the small laminated labels on them, it was hard to figure out which set of lights in the room they matched with. With a few quick flips of each switch, the lights were finally off, leaving the room in darkness other than the bright light coming from the lamp to the side of the stool.

Your eyes find Ben’s figure to the side, the glow of the diffused lamp illuminating his back as he removed the cotton robe. His back was muscular, the planes of his shoulder blades casting shadows across his back as his muscles rippled with movement. The dark shadows that moved along his body as he turned to face you and your peers.

The robe was hanging on an old coat hook behind the sheet that acted as the back wall, barely hidden. No one’s eyes were anywhere other than on Ben, his somehow lean yet broad shoulders and narrow hips taking up everyone’s immediate thoughts.

You drag your eyes away from him when he flashes you another fleeting smile, reaching up to run his fingers through his thick hair. On your canvas, you mark a quick line to reference where the light source was coming from for future reference when you looked back on this for your exam questions.

You look back up to see Ben situating himself on the stool, his right leg being brought up to rest his heel on the edge of the seat. The left leg moved to the side, toes bent to keep him steady. His eyes are open as he positions himself, right knee covering part of his shoulder from view. He holds your gaze as he brings his elbow up to rest on his knee, fingers carding through his hair until his temple rested on the heel of his hand.

His left forearm rested on his thigh, hand laying limp between his legs. When he was finally situated, your eyes rake over his full figure, unable to resist holding them level with his hand and penis between his legs. Although flaccid, he was everything you had thought he would be. Ben definitely lived up to expectations, and you’re not surprised that he had rarely been single in the two years you had been friends with him.

“You may begin, you have until nine to finish. As always the building it open until twelve without a building pass.” Larson tells you all, her voice now dropping to a hushed tone. “Please remember that phones and other devices are not allowed to be used during this time, if you need to use your phone, I ask that you leave the room and do what you need to in the hall. These portraits are due by the next class.”

The sound of near dry brushes running across canvases created a unrehearsed orchestra, your teacher switching on a soft mood playlist from her spotify on her laptop. The volume of music was quiet, the tone and bass of it almost non existent from the old desktop monitors built in speakers.

You moved your brush through the egg white colour, using it as a replacement of the pencils that weren’t allowed to be used. When there was a quick outline of Ben on your canvas, you rub the brush across a paper towel on your thigh before dipping it into one of the pink and white mixes.

His eyes were closed, his lips resting in an easy line. Relaxed, unfazed, as if he didn’t really notice anyone around him. Small beads of sweat formed on his upper lip and chest under the constant assault from the lamp.

As time passed, the beads turned into a film resting over his skin, his fingers flexing every now and then to give the stiff joints a break. You notice the muscles in his thighs tightening, occasionally twitching under the prolonged stillness.

You gave him no definitive features, you didn’t paint his eyes, giving quick outlines of shadows and highlights but letting his face fade into the shadow cast by his nose and hair. Soft rolls of his stomach lined with red and black, the navel that was higher up on his torso was followed by a thin line coarse hair before erupting into a sample patch surrounding his member.

Slightly off colour from the rest of his skin, his cock was tinted pink. Thin veins twisting their way around the spanse of muscle. He was impressive compared to anyone that had been on the stool before. You wonder, momentarily, if that was all there was and he showed, or if there was more. Your eyes can’t help but trace a vein that disappears under the pink tip.

When your eyes come off your canvas to return to Ben, his eyes are open. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his lips when he catches your gaze again. It’s a gentle look, one of long time, comfortable lovers. You weren’t that. But you smile, a blush staining your cheeks as you return your eyes to the painting of him - but not before you see the smallest twitch of his cock between his legs.

Through the last thirty minutes of the class, you work on the smaller details. Lining the firm biceps and his crooked toes. You can’t control it as the brush returns to between his legs, a pale blue-beige coating the bristles as you blend in the veins. There was no reason for hyper realism, you were trying to keep it simple yet realistic, but with the now cleaned brush blending the colours across the painting, you feel a small sense of pride spread through your chest.

This was your best friend, and you hope you did his beauty justice.

Only the light at the back of the room is turned on, Larson not wanting to blind anyone with the flickering yellow fluorescents after so much time in the dark. Ben was slow to stand from the stool, taking his time to stretch out his stiff joints. Though he turned his back to face everyone, two perfectly perky globes of his ass giving everyone the image they would take home that night.

The robe slides around his back, covering him from view. He turns around again as he knots the sash around his waist, the two ends dangling and brushing his knee lightly.

“Thank you for being a subject again.” Larson says to Ben with a smile, shaking his hand when he comes over to her desk.

“Thank you for putting up with me again.” He replies smoothly, flashing the grin that had the entire volleyball team swooning at him.

His fingers wrap around a half empty plastic water bottle, the sound of it crinkling slightly echoing throughout the room. As people begin to disperse from the room once their brushes were clean and their canvases were set on a rack, you finally set your brush down into the small pot of water that rested against the easel.

Black paint stained the water, creating an even murkier grey cloud before you. You stand, stretching out and letting a chorus of pops release from your spine and shoulders. “You should really go see the chiropractor.” His voice wraps around you smoothly, like the sun after a cloudy day. “It’s free with your tuition.”

You smile, looking over your shoulder to see him standing behind you. “I have no time.” You reply, beginning to discard of what you hadn’t used for that portrait session.

“I’ll book you an appointment right after our next movie night.” Ben tells you, moving to grab the dirty water for you.

He walks with you to the back wall that held a paint covered sink, watching you clean your brushes delicately and with care.

“Your portrait looks nice.” He comments, glancing over to it.

“You’re only saying that because it’s of you.” You tease, grabbing a paper towel to dry off the bristles.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles, dumping the pot of water and rinsing it. “But you look like you took your time and paid attention to detail. I didn’t see anyone else with such a good interpretation of my cock. One guy just painted a black hole.”

“Ahh.” You coo. “The ultimate turn on. Don’t talk to me unless you have the  _biggest_ black hole on campus.”

Ben’s laugh is beautiful. It’s deep and melodic. If you ever lost him, it would be what you would miss the most. His gentle laugh that could make the sun shine again, the birds sing their sweet praises when they hear it, your heart fluttered whenever it graced your ears.

“Are you sticking around for a bit?” You ask, packing up your brushes and setting them into your bag with your clean pallet.

“I was going to take you out for burritos whenever you decide you’re finished for the night.” He responds, following you to where you walked to the work desk at the back.

“I’m just going to work on one of my other assignments for an hour or so, and then we can go get food.” You tell him, tugging out a sketchbook from the laptop pocket of your bag. “I have a granola bar if you need something to snack on until then.”

“I’m fine.” Ben tells you, sitting on the chair beside you. His legs are stretched out under the wood table, legs still bare to the cold air of the room. He leans his forearms on the table surface, laying his head on them with his face towards you.

Silence filled the air comfortably, Larson excusing herself and asking you to lock the door on your way out if you left before twelve. Your pencil on the rough paper was the only noise beside the steady breathing of the both of you. Occasionally, one of you would sigh, or Ben would have a drink of his water. When a slight shiver wracks his body, you look over from your concept drawing.

“Maybe you should put some clothes on Solo.” You say, seeing his lips tilt up into a teasing smile.

“ _Maybe_  we’ll finally get to third base.” You push at his shoulder with a laugh, though you can’t deny that the thought, and the look in his eyes is appealing.

You look away from him, cheeks rosy as you pick up the pencil you had set down on the table. From beside you, you could hear Ben adjusting on the chair from it’s small squealing and squeaks. From the corner of your eye, you can see his legs moving up onto the table, ankles crossed and the robe slowly sliding down his upper thighs.

His hand is heavy as it rests on your bare knee, his palm hot and clammy against your skin. Ben’s movements along your thigh are slow, barely there. Fingertips tracing outlines of small pictures or mindless designs.

He never moved passed the hemline of your skirt, though he leans closer to you and rests his forehead against your shoulder as his lips press against your bicep. You force the shiver away, though goosebumps raise up over your skin.

You try,  _try_ to ignore his advancements. To focus instead on the concept of a painting for your other class, but Ben Solo knows  _just_ how to steal your attention and your heart.

“I’ve always thought you were too beautiful to be real. You’re like a sculpture come to life, a goddess stepped out of a painting.” He’s quiet in his confession, sincere.

Your hand stills, pencil pausing mid stroke. You turn your head until you can see his blushing face, his lips pushed out into his signature pout. But he still looked sincere, looked as serious as he was about his feelings towards you.

The pencil is set down on top of the page, body turning to face him fully while your hand rested over top of his much larger on your thigh. You tilt your head in advance, adjusting your shoulder to bring his pouting lips closer to yours.

They’re as soft as you’ve always imagined them to be, it’s like pressing your face into a memory foam pillow. Your lips tilt upwards at the small whimper that bubbles up from his throat. His fingers tighten on your thigh before he twists his wrist to face his palm upwards.

He pulls his hand slowly out from under yours, letting the pads of his fingers trail along your palm and fingers before pressing your palms together and entwining your fingers. Your other hand is running across his shoulder to his jawline, you find your fingers twisting into the roots of his hair, the dark strands soft against your skin.

“ _Ben_.” You mumble meekly, breathless against his lips.

His fingers tighten around yours, his eyes opening slowly to stare at you. You pull away as he pushes himself up, legs coming off of the table to plant his feet firmly on the floor. He hovered over you, your head tilting back to look up at him instead of down from where he had been resting against you.

Ben’s hands slid to hold your waist, tugging you to the edge of your seat and closer to his body. With slightly awkward coordination, he lifts you onto his lap as you use your left foot braced on the floor to swing your right leg over him. Your knees bend until you’re pressed firmly against his thighs, the expanse of muscle clenching beneath you for a moment before relaxing.

His skin against your fingertips is heated, radiating into your entire being until you were filled with warmth. Your hands trail up his arms, feeling the bulge of his forearms and biceps on their excursion upwards. His collarbones are prominent as you brush over them, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. You lean forward, your lips grazing his cheekbone for the shortest of moments that it takes for your fingers to find his hair.

Your palms rest on his cheeks, fingers curling to twist the hair and press into his scalp. A moan comes from Ben, crawling up from his chest at the massaging like motion you started as you move your lips downwards. Across the large nose with a pause to kiss the tip before dropping hesitantly to his lips.

They greeted you softly, stretching ever so slightly into a smile. His head tilting slightly so there was no accidental bumps of your noses. Saliva coated your lips as he deepened the kiss, pressing harder into you as he tilts his hips upwards until you were pressed tightly against his rock hard cock.

An unexpected whimper vibrates against his lips. Ben’s eyes open to look at you as he chuckles at you. The sound going straight down to your damp pussy and causing you to rock your hips downwards.

“Fuck.” Ben hisses, his fingers curling into a claw against your hip. His short nails dig into your thin shirt, most liking leaving little crescent shape indents on your skin.

Short rolls of your hips pressed you against his dick, sliding back down the length before pushing yourself forwards and meeting his hips with yours. The knot of the robe’s sash pressed uncomfortably into your abdomen each time your hips met, but you pressed down harder, your skirt sliding up your thighs with each movement.

His hands slide down from your waist, pushing between your bodies for a moment to pop the snap buttons that held your skirt together around your body. The rectangular fabric fell away from you, the metal buttons clanging slightly against the floor. The seamless cotton underwear you wore was soft against his fingers, his fingertips dipping into the waistband and snapping it slightly.

You tug at his hair you held between your fingers, panting slightly as you feel him begin to untie the sash around his waist. As it released, the robe fell open, revealing him once more to your eyes. You pull away from his face, a small string of saliva connecting you.

Ben’s hands cup your hips, trailing upwards to push your shirt up with his hands. “So beautiful.” He mummers, any sign of his usual teasing behaviour was gone now, replaced now with the man who had been pining after you for most of his college career.

Your cheeks were rosy, the heat between you almost too unbearable. Sweat shined against his skin again, though there was no spotlight on him this time. His hair was wild as you pulled your fingers out of the tresses, trailing them down his cheeks and jaw.

You eyes don’t leave his as you seat yourself against his cock, rubbing his member against your now soaked underwear. His pupils are blown wide, lips parting to release his quick breaths.

“I feel like a fucking teenager.” Ben grumbles, holding your lower back to where it curves to your ass, his other hand grazing gently against your hip and abdomen.

“A teenager getting to third base.” You tease, his tang trails a little lower to push away the thin fabric that acted as the only barrier between you two.

His fingers are calloused, the rough skin dragging across the soft and moisturized skin of your cunt. One stripe downward with his forefinger until it passed over your opening before twisting his wrist to be able to pull it back upwards.

It stills at your swollen clit, barely moving over it as he rubs small circles against it. Shocks sent down your muscles made you curl your toes at the sensation where a small cramp in your foot formed before you tried to relax yourself again to let it dissipate.

Your thighs were tight as you tried to hold yourself still over Ben’s thighs, knees barely on the sides of the chair beside his legs. His finger moves downwards to catch the underside of your clit before dragging it up once more. You could feel your pussy clench at his movements, a whimper echoing throughout the quiet room as you silently beg for his cock to be in you.

“Use your words.” Ben taunts, pausing his ministrations with a smirk on his face. Despite his red and sweating skin, he now had the upper hand on your need.

“I want you to fuck me Ben Solo.” You beg, your hands falling to his broad shoulders and pushing the robe off of them. “Live up to your reputation and  _fuck_ me.”

A shiver wracks through Ben’s body, his hand pushing your underwear to the side and using the hand on your back to lower you down. Your hand reaches down to replace his, holding the underwear as his moved to push his dick away from his stomach and positioning it so your hot cunt could sink right down on it.

It was thick, you felt fuller than you ever had. You could feel the ridges and veins pressed against your walls, his tip pushing your cervix up to make room for him. Your eyes meet, his lips parted once more and his eyes hooded from the pleasure that was taking over his body.

“ _Fuck_   _princess_.” He grunts, his hand gliding up to grip your hip tightly. Your shirt was pushed up to the point of being a mock crop top, and as Ben began to guide your hips along his length, you tug the round neckline down until it cradled your breasts.

One more tug and your bra had joined it, leaving your peaked nipples taunting him as you arched your back until you could brace yourself against the table with the heels of your hands.

His mouth is hot around your nipple, teeth gentle as they graze against the hardened bud. His eyes hold yours as you rock your hips, never breaking the hold on each motion. Even when you move at a sudden jerking motion down onto him, his dark eyes hold yours. It was intimate. How public sex in your classroom could be more intimate than in your bed, you didn’t know.

He switches breasts, leaving the first wet and cold as he begins to suck roughly onto the nipple. The mix of nipple play and the thick cock between your legs had a familiar pressure building in your abdomen, tightening your muscles and sending waves of pleasure through your limbs.

“Be–en.” Your voice cracks, your pleasure just hitting the tip of the mountain. One more, just  _one_ more thrust and you would be gone.

Ben’s hand stills you, holding you down so you were perfectly seated on him. A whine of frustrated complaints assaults his ears, your hands pushing your body forward so you could cup his face again. The pressure you put into your fingertips against his temple and jaw let him know just how displeased you were, but that didn’t wipe the smug look off of his face.

“Not yet.” He says simply, his lips pressing against your shoulder before he adjusts. “I’ve waited two years to have sex with you, you’re not cumming that quickly.”

Another whine.

He lifts you right off of him, your legs shaky as you attempt to stand. His hands guide you to turn around, lowering your torso over the work table. The chair scrapes against the floor, the old wood creaking beneath him as he stands.

His hands slide up your thighs before reaching between them to push your stance apart. He’s quick to position himself and slip back into you, bottoming out once more. With the new angle, you can perfectly feel the gentle upwards curve of his dick, pushing your walls to accommodate him.

With two quick thrusts, you raise up onto your toes to try to be more at his level. The pleasure you feel vibrates throughout your entire body, his pace lazy but quick. Soft slaps of his hips meeting your ass and the quiet breathing filling the room. Gentle whimpers as his hand reaches around to brush over your clit a few times before pulling away once more.

His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging you backwards until your back was arched and you were braced on your forearms.Your nails dig into the table, tits bouncing with each thrust he pushes into you.

He’s consistent with his pace, though good at changing it to fit a rhythm that brings you right to the brink of an orgasm once more. His pace slows as he feels you begin to clench tightly around him, your legs trembling against his.

Your mouth is open in a constant moan, eyes closed. The slight ache of your back was nothing to the pleasure you kept chasing, the one that Ben kept withholding from you.

One more time, he pulls out of you completely. You can feel a mix of his precum and your own building arousal dripping down your thighs.

“Turn around for me, princess.” Ben coos gently, though it was still an order. “Let me see that pretty face of yours when you cum.”

You push yourself up from the table, feeling slight relief in your spine from being able to straighten it again. You turn in his arms, leaning against him as you hold his forearms for support. He guides you to sit on the table, adjusting you as you once more lean against your forearms. His hands slide down your thighs, cupping the backs of your knees to pull you forward. Your knees rest on either side of his ribs, cunt facing upwards towards him.

Ben steps forward, leaning over you with one hand placed firmly beside your hip as he guides himself into your hot pussy again. His eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments to get used to the feeling of you around him once more.

The sound of skin against skin is loud, his breaths mingling with it easily. He looked like a greek sculpture above you, his eyes dark and his teeth bared as he watches you. His hair is damp with sweat, hanging in clumps where it didn’t stick to his forehead and cheeks.

His moans and grunts are heavenly, mixing with your soft whimpers and moans of his name beautifully. You can’t help but reach down to mix the sweat on your skin with the slick from your mixed arousals onto your clit.

You jerk upwards slightly as you work your neglected bud, sharp shocks of pleasure going straight to your abdomen and mixing with those of his cock hitting your cervix roughly repeatedly.

Each thrust, each moan from his lips sent you closer and closer to your peak once more. Silently, you beg that he’ll let you cum this time. Let you cum all over him. Your cheeks are hot, hotter when he leans forward and fans you with his panting breaths.

“Please.” You whisper, voice hoarse as you beg for your release.

He nods, holding your gaze again. He doesn’t break it as he leans forward to kiss you. His lips pressed hard against yours, his eyes never wavering as he watches your orgasm take over your body.

Your eyes flutter shut, mouth pulling away from his to release a moan of his name. The muscles in your abdomen are tight, legs wrapped firmly around him and holding him against you. His thrusts don’t stop, but they’re quicker and shorter as he begins to chase his own orgasm.

Yours doesn’t fade during his final moments, his thrusts keeping you bathing in the pleasure he had given you. His mouth drops to yours a final time as his body stills, muscles spasming through his orgasm.

Thick ropes of cum fill you to the brink, barely being contained in your cunt as it joins the sweat covering your inner thighs. He’s slow to pull out of you, easing himself out of your still-clenched pussy.

Ben blinks slowly, a small smile forming on his lips as he lets out a low chuckle as he takes you in. Your shirt was splotched with sweat, thighs a mess of his cum. Charcoal and paint decorated parts of your skin, the table having not been wiped down properly before he had set you on it.

“See?” He asks, his smile forming into a shit eating grin that could only be described as Ben Solo. “You’re as pretty as a picture, even prettier probably.”

Your already rosy cheeks heat up with a dark blush, eyes trailing after him while he grabs some of the paper towel off of the side counter.

He’s gentle as he wipes you down, using a damp paper towel to wipe the paint and black charcoal from your skin. He wipes between your legs, and then removes the sweat from your face and neck, making sure to get the back of your neck.

“Get dressed.” You mummer, pushing yourself up onto your weak legs to pick up your skirt. “I’m hungry, and you promised burritos.”


End file.
